Pathfinder Tales--Reaper's Eye

by Richard A. Knaak

  The demonspawn who had not been nearly so demonic, only tried to be as human as they could be.

  But that had not been enough for the crusaders of the Flaming Lance. Pitborn were products of the Worldwound, were the blood of monsters and looked the part. Unless thoroughly vetted by the church, they were suspected of serving the dark powers. Never mind that these pitborn had been farming. They, with some others, had built a tiny community in a hidden part of the Worldwound just close enough to the border so that the most human-looking of them could occasionally slip into the lands beyond and buy, sell, or trade for what they needed.

  But they had still been pitborn sneaking across the border. In the eyes of Captain Harricka Morn and the other crusaders of the order, that made them insurgents. Who knew what sabotage they might have carried out, what information they might have sold to demonic masters? Unlike some holy orders, whose servants were often priests and paladins, Daryus’s unit had consisted solely of ordinary soldiers, those who did not make distinctions between good and evil where demonspawn were concerned. Pitborn were tainted by the legacy of their births. And they had broken the law. That was all those like Harricka Morn cared about.

  As he carefully worked on the ropes, Daryus noted Raffan’s certainty where his route was concerned. Either the other man had ridden this way before—which seemed unlikely considering what Daryus knew of Raffan—or he had access to knowledge he had not given to the fighter earlier.

  Raffan appeared unperturbed by the fact that they were heading deeper and deeper into the Worldwound with hardly any protection. Toy had no power save his cunning brain, while for the moment Daryus could not even protect himself. Raffan had his darts, but against so many of the threats of the Worldwound, they were all but useless.

  Toy continued to pace his cage. Daryus caught the familiar’s attention.

  Leaning forward as best he could, Daryus whispered, “He knows where he’s going?”

  “He does now,” muttered the familiar.

  “You told him.”

  “Had to! Had to!”

  “I heard him talking with you before he shot me. You knew him before this, didn’t you, Toy? Did you bring him into this?”

  The weasel looked cowed. “Yes. It was another plan. The patron, he removed the witch’s gifts, but Master Grigor is cunning. Toy knew he must attack him from more than one direction.”

  “Gifts—you mean magic?”

  “Yes, too clever is my former master, so clever. He found a way to survive without those gifts—at least for a time. Time is the one thing truly against him!”

  “Why? How much time does he have left?”

  “Enough. Enough still. So long as he has the staff.”

  Glancing back at Raffan, the familiar explained as quickly as he could. Early on, Grigor had begun experimenting with how to create reservoirs of power. He had constantly sought new and better methods, as if by doing so he prepared for some cataclysm in the making.

  And then the witch had committed his betrayal.

  Daryus didn’t need to hear more on the point. He knew those like Grigor Dolch. From the moment they swore allegiance to one master, they were already looking to defect, to trade up and find a better offer. Apparently that applied even to demonic patrons. There was always a more powerful master to seek.

  But breaking a pact with a demon that was the major source of one’s power had repercussions, apparently. Dolch had probably thought himself well prepared for his betrayal, but from the way Toy acted, it hadn’t all gone well. It sounded as if what the weasel had said earlier was true: Grigor was living on borrowed time, albeit more time than Daryus would have preferred.

  Which to Daryus still meant that the more desperate the witch became, the more dangerous he would be to face.

  They rode on at a consistent but not overly swift pace. That confused Daryus, who would have thought that Raffan would be in a hurry.

  That Shiera was not only likely alive but perhaps even relatively well brought some relief to Daryus. However, it also made him wonder how he could get Raffan to increase his pace. Surely the traitor did not think he had all the time in the world to reach his goal.

  And yet, Raffan continued to be satisfied with things the way they were … save for Toy. It seemed that Toy irritated the young man more than anything else.

  It was that which finally caused the trio to come to a halt. Raffan turned his mount toward the one on which he kept the weasel caged.

  “You’ve got little time left to tell me what I want to know,” Raffan snarled. “I didn’t cut the old man’s throat and ransack his vault to end up with nothing! You know what Dolch is looking for, and you know that it’s just as likely to give everything to me … if Dolch is dead.”

  “Gladly would I see that last part finally accomplished,” Toy returned. “But what you ask of me, I am not permitted. I exist at the sufferance of he who was betrayed by the witch…”

  “I can wield that power just as well, if you let me have control of it. I’ll give you Dolch.” With a sneer, Raffan indicated Daryus. “That’s more than you renegade crusader has been able to do.”

  “We will need Master Daryus,” the familiar insisted. “You will want Master Daryus at your side if the witch confronts us before—”

  The three of them froze as a menacing hum arose from ahead. Daryus immediately began working harder on his bonds.

  Toy began pacing his cage. Raffan turned his nervous mount around to face the direction of the noise. He fumbled in a pouch at his side, anxiously seeking something.

  A glistening winged form swooped up before the trio. It had a long, narrow body that ended in a rounded end with a foot-long sting.

  In his time as a crusader guarding against the Worldwound, Daryus had seen warmonger wasps. Once found only in the Abyss, they now inhabited many parts of the Worldwound. They were not that different in general design from the small insects they resembled, but as with all in the tainted land, they had been perverted. A golden metallic layer covered their skin. They were creatures of the foulest tempers, very territorial and to be avoided at all costs.

  The warmonger buzzed back and forth as it studied the intruders.

  “You told me this path would be clear!” Raffan shouted back.

  “You deal with Grigor Dolch at your own peril!” Toy countered, cowering at the bottom of his cage.

  Not for a moment did Daryus believe the weasel’s show of fear. He suspected Toy of trying to make certain that Raffan and Raffan alone became the warmonger’s focus.

  The humming came from the wasp’s wings, which beat faster and faster. Daryus, aware what that meant, struggled harder.

  “Damn it! Where is it?” growled Raffan as he continued to fumble in the pouch. “Where is it?”

  Daryus could wait no longer. “Move your mount, Raffan!”

  To Daryus’s surprise, his captor actually listened. Raffan steered his mount to the side just as the humming reached a crescendo.

  A charge of electricity struck the ground just where Raffan’s horse had been but a moment before.

  “It’ll take time for it to build up its strength again!” Daryus added. “We should pull back and—”

  More humming arose from their right … and then from their left as well.

  Two more warmongers buzzed into view.

  “Untie me!” Daryus demanded.

  Raffan ignored him, his attention still on the contents of the pouch. Daryus fought hard and finally felt the bonds slip a little more.

  Suddenly, a voice whispered in his ear. “No … not now.”

  Toy’s voice.

  Daryus looked to the cage, the origin of which was still a mystery to him. The door was not only shut, but locked from the outside. Despite that, Toy was nowhere to be seen.

  “No…” repeated the weasel’s voice. “Let it play out, Master Daryus.”

  That was an easy thing for the tiny familiar to say, but Daryus couldn’t hide behind a saddle. He magnified his efforts.
<
br />   Unfortunately, that served to bring him to the wasps’ attention.

  The foremost wasp floated closer, wings quickly building up a static rage. Daryus slapped the sides of his mount with his feet in hopes that the animal would run, but instead the frightened horse just stood where it was and shivered.

  Daryus gritted his teeth as the wings beat their loudest.

  “Ah! Here’s the damned thing!”

  The wasp suddenly shook as if buffeted by a powerful wind. The charge it unleashed flew wide, hitting the ground some distance to Daryus’s right.

  “Away with you damned bugs!” Raffan cried out. “Get away! I command you!”

  The young man held up a round object that Daryus could not otherwise make out. He waved it back and forth in whatever direction there hovered a wasp. Each time, the nearest warmonger spun about as if caught up in a whirlwind.

  “Go on! Get out of here!” Raffan continued.

  Daryus could only guess that whatever his captor carried was a talisman of tremendous power. The warmongers were not simple creatures easily rebuffed. Any one of them could kill both men with ease.

  Yet, all Raffan had to do was continue waving the talisman around. The second wasp retreated from sight, followed quickly by the third. That left only the original, a beast Daryus estimated was larger than the other duo by at least a third.

  It struggled to reach Raffan, but his device again threw it back. Grinning, Raffan urged his mount toward the last warmonger. He laughed as the wasp fought.

  The long, sharp stinger darted out. The huge warmonger slipped under Raffan’s aim with the talisman.

  With a yelp, the younger man leapt off his horse. A second later, the sting drove deep into the luckless horse’s side. The animal shrieked, then tipped over.

  Pulling its bloody stinger from the carcass, the warmonger searched for Raffan. As it did, the overdressed young man came up from behind it and held the talisman for all to see.

  “Begone with you, I said! Begone!”

  The wasp fluttered close to him, the wings building up for another discharge.

  Raffan took another step.

  The warmonger’s wings slowed. The static charge dissipated.

  With a last buzz toward the young man, the huge wasp followed after the others.

  “Ha!” Raffan whirled on Daryus. “What do you say to that?”

  Daryus gave him a slight nod, nothing more.

  “Hmmph. You should be more grateful.” Raffan bent down to look at his horse, then started for the mount atop which sat Toy’s cage.

  Daryus eyed the cage, wondering what would happen when Raffan discovered that the familiar had escaped.

  But to his surprise, from the bottom of the cage popped the weasel’s head. Toy pushed himself up as if having been cringing in the cage all this time.

  “You’re fortunate you didn’t lie about the talisman,” Raffan told the weasel.

  “I have not lied at all.”

  In response, Raffan shifted the cage. Daryus saw that the bottom had a hook mechanism that allowed it to be attached by the base in a number of ways.

  The other man glanced at him. “The weasel here provided me with a few magical tricks, including a way to hide large objects in a tiny space. He never thought I might include something to keep him in.”

  Daryus remained silent. He continued to work at his bonds, which were almost loose enough. Once he was free, he would teach Raffan the price of overconfidence and betrayal.

  But as Raffan mounted the other horse, Toy turned back to Daryus. He made certain the former crusader saw him, then shook his head.

  Daryus paused in his efforts and frowned at the weasel.

  Toy used his good eye to wink … and then ever so briefly opened and closed his demonic one. The weasel then spun around to face Raffan’s back.

  Daryus sat motionless as his captor reached back and grabbed the last horse’s reins. Pulling hard, Raffan guided the mount up next to his.

  “Keep in line and you’ll have a chance at survival,” the traitorous young man remarked as he took the lead. “Otherwise, I’ll dart you and leave you for those bugs.”

  Daryus kept silent. As he slowly renewed his work, he thought not about Raffan, but rather what he had seen when Toy had opened the monstrous eye.

  Whatever had stared back at him, it had certainly not been Toy.

  22

  IN UHL-ADANAR

  Shiera wandered through the temple-city in awe, all other concerns briefly forgotten as she drank in the greatest discovery of her lifetime. Venture-Captain Amadan Gwinn could have his small glories; this would prove Shiera’s abilities to the rest once and for all.

  It was as if the builders had just stepped away moments ago. There was hardly any dust, hardly any sign that so much time had passed since Uhl-Adanar’s construction.

  The trek to reach here had been an odd, dangerous one, but to Shiera it now seemed all worth it. She wandered from structure to structure, touching a wall, peering as best she could through windows made of an odd, black glaze. That the glaze prevented her from seeing inside only made her excitement greater. Uhl-Adanar clearly had many wonders to bring to light. All she needed was time.

  The illumination spread as she moved, ever providing her with sufficient light. Now and then, Shiera made out the wolf symbol high above a doorway. Unfortunately, thus far, those doors had refused her efforts. Still, with so much else to look at, her frustration remained low.

  At the end of the lengthy courtyard, she found a fountain. There was water in the base and a spiral tower in the center that Shiera suspected had once shot a stream of water through the top.

  Shiera suddenly felt her thirst. She bent down and studied the water. It looked clear and had no odd smell. A slight ripple revealed the water still flowed, albeit at a slow pace.

  Believing it to be fresh enough, Shiera cupped her hands and brought some water to her mouth. It was cool and tasted as if it had just come from a woodland spring. Grateful, she took another handful—

  In the water’s reflective surface, a mummified face stared at her from behind her shoulder.

  Gasping, Shiera rolled away. As she came up, she pulled free her sword.

  There was no one behind her.

  Shiera surveyed her surroundings from floor to distant ceiling, but saw nothing. Still, she returned to the fountain with caution and used only one hand to gather water while the other gripped the sword tightly.

  By the time she finished drinking, her worry had faded. More and more she became certain that the image had just been a side effect of her incredible thirst. Shiera had not known just how much in need of fluid she had been until she had started drinking. In fact, she could not recall the last time she had drank anything.

  Feeling calmer, she studied Uhl-Adanar anew. Although she still stood in awe of it, she now considered her choices. Somewhere in here was the tomb, the reason for all this. She had been meant to find it. That much was clear.

  Sheathing the sword and removing the crossbow, she went to the nearest door. As before, it refused her attempt to open it, even when she shoved her shoulder hard against it. Stepping back, she eyed the small window next to the door. The material looked like glass, but when she tried to batter it with the butt of the crossbow, she did not even leave a scratch.

  Shiera went to a second and then a third building with much the same results. Awe began to give way to frustration as she found herself prevented from locating any of the great secrets of the city, especially the tomb.

  She eyed the edifice on the other side of the fountain. Mouth set tight, she strode up to the door. In contrast to the previous buildings, which had single, iron doors, this one had a double set that only up close did she see also had the wolf symbol embossed in each. Hopes rising slightly, she reached a hand to the doors.

  The two swung open just enough to admit her.

  “Oh, of course,” she commented wryly to the doors. “I’ll just walk in, shall I? Nothing to fear, is t
here?”

  She waited for a moment, then, shifting her stance slightly, kicked the right door. The door swung back hard, finally slamming against the inner wall.

  Keeping the crossbow ready in one hand, Shiera drew her sword with the other, then cautiously slipped into the building.

  The interior proved to be a vast chamber lined with pews leading to a dais upon which nothing stood. The wall beyond bore the one-eyed wolf symbol, with phrases in the ancient script carved on each side.

  “‘The silence of Tzadn must be maintained,’” she read on the left. Then, cocking her head, she studied the phrase again at a slightly different angle. “‘Let not the Reaper’s Eye fall upon you…’” Shiera rubbed her chin. “How curious…”

  She attempted a translation using both angles and again came up with the same answers. Focusing on the phrase on the right, she worked out the first variation.

  “‘For darkness comes in varying and greater shades.’” More perplexed than ever, Shiera tried the second angle. “‘For his reward to you will be service forever.’”

  Shiera read the right part over, then, exasperated, dropped down on one of the pews. After taking a breath, she looked to the left, then read all the way to the right. Both sets of phrases seemed linked, but what they meant was beyond her. She could not help thinking there was more substance to them than just words to worshipers of the obscure deity.

  As she sat pondering the inscriptions, she noticed for the first time that the wolf pattern also graced the floor of the dais. However, in contrast to the image carved in the wall, the one in the floor looked the opposite direction.

  Approaching the pattern, Shiera saw that it was nearly a perfect match to the one that had brought her here. That made her wonder if, like the previous, it had a special purpose. She cautiously circled the design, seeking clues as to its function.

  Sure enough, on the side next to the end of the wolf’s muzzle, she made out a tiny blue crystal embedded in the stone. Looming over it, she studied it a moment more, then sheathed her sword and slowly waved her hand over the area.

  What sounded like stone clattering nearby made her quickly glance around. Despite seeing nothing, Shiera wished that Daryus were here to watch her back.